Page 40 of Us Dark Few

“My dear, they played many movies, not justGrease. Hundreds and hundreds about love, war, loss, greed, happiness…Winnie would watcheverything.”

Khalani shook her head in disbelief. “Why did Apollo stop all that? Why do they prohibit us from hearing or seeing art from the Great Collapse? Why do they lock all the artifacts in the Archives?”

Khalani remembered the Master Judge’s eyes of fury but never understood why the poetry was contraband. Nothing she ever read was dangerous. The question burned in her mind, but she’d been afraid to speak the words aloud and learn the truth.

The truth might’ve been harder to accept.

Winnie heaved a deep sigh and turned to her. “You told Winnie that Douglas gave you the poetry, right?”

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you immediately turn the book in when you knew it was from the Archives? That’s the law, isn’t it?”

Khalani snaked a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. Perhaps I should’ve. But when I read the book, it felt wrong to give it up. I knew the pages would disappear and didn’t want that.”

“Why? What did it make you feel?” Winnie pressed.

She hung her head. “Some people might think they were just words on a paper…but it was more for me. Each page was an expression of all the hope and despair in my life, as if the author’s thoughts were an extension of me. That probably sounds stupid.”

Winnie emphatically shook her head. “No, no, dear. Keep going! If you have a thought, do your mind a favor and speak it, so it doesn’t have to house it forever.”

Khalani paused, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know. It was weird. For the first time, I felt…alive. Not just when I read it, either. The words stayed with me. Like the book was inspiring me to create a masterpiece myself. Even in prison.”

Winnie clapped her hands together. “Exactly! The last thing the Apollo Councilmen want is for its citizens to become inspired and creative. They want their people to remain content. Obedient. Art has the ability to embolden and galvanize people to desire more. They can’t have that.”

Her forehead creased. “Why would wanting more be a bad thing? If we put more minds together, we could figure out how to build a bigger Genesis to fit everyone, not just the rich. Once we all slowly migrate to the surface again, under a bigger dome, a lot of problems will be fixed.”

Winnie’s expression twisted, and her eyes held a deeper pain. “And what if he doesn’t want our problems to be fixed? You keep assuming he wants us to survive.”

Recognition dawned on her face. “The Governor? I know better than anyone that he is evil and only has his interests at heart. But part of those interests are still the safety of Apollo. They at least need our scientists, engineers, and farmers, or none of us would be able to survive. Right?” she implored, waiting expectantly for Winnie to agree.

“Right?” Khalani repeated.

Winnie stared down at her hands, fiddling with them as her mouth curved downward. Silence resonated through the room. Winnie opened her mouth to speak, but the alarm shrieked through the air, signaling the end of the afternoon shift.

“You better get going, Khalani.” Winnie’s expression turned downcast.

“What were you gonna say, Winnie?”

“Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning.” Winnie gave a dismissive wave of her hand, but a flash of grief entered her eyes. “Winnie doesn’t want you to be late. Go, dear.”

Khalani lingered, not wanting to end the conversation, but reluctantly headed toward the door. She turned back to wish Winnie a good day, but something stopped her. Tears streaked down Winnie’s face, and her shoulders slumped over as she stared at the painting of the white-robed man.

She hesitated, nearly switching directions to console Winnie and find out what was wrong but decided against it. When Khalani was sad, she preferred to be alone.

So, she left, giving Winnie the space she needed. Descending the rickety stairs, her brow furrowed in thought as she tried to figure out who the white-robed man in the painting was.

When Khalani entered the pit, a loud clamor of shouts and cheers erupted from the fighting area—much more boisterous than usual. In fact, everyone seemed to be clustered in the middle of the pit.

Khalani and Serene’s eyes met, and they surged toward the crowd. They found Derek and Adan on the outside, straining their necks to peer into the fighting ring.

“Adan, what’s going on?” Serene asked.

Adan turned to them, a wild excitement in his eyes. “It’s the Death-Zoner. A guard challenged him to fight in the pit.”

There was only one Death-Zoner holed up in Braderhelm, and he was already infamous. He was sentenced to prison right after the street cleanup.

The coincidence didn’t fall short on Khalani. He must have been the same Death-Zoner the council members cautiously whispered about around Governor Huxley.

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